I climb the mountain's height, I hear no rushing sound. Oh, would I were at home, HANNAH AUGUSTA MOORE. THIS young lady was born in the town of Wiscasset, Lincoln County, but has resided for several years in Brooklyn, N. Y. Some of her poems have attracted the attention of several prominent literary men. THE SPIRIT OF SONG. DESIRE it not, that fatal boon of sadness, Young Dreamer, sailing o'er life's summer sca, 'Tis born of grief, in hearts whose all of gladness Has died 'mid throes of mortal agony. Desire it not; only where joy is dying, In the dark caverns of the soul it dwells, Its strength is drawn from tears, and groans and sighing, From bleeding hearts the mystic music wells. Yes, thence it wells, like springs of living water, From severed veins, on the red fields of slaughter, Its stirring numbers roll with mightiest power, Where deepest, darkest floods of anguish sweep: Oh, doubt me not, it is a mournful dower, Bestowed on those whose portion is to weep. 'Tis ever thus; the grape yields not its treasure, Save as the life from out its heart is press'd; And agony, that knows not stint nor measure, Wrings out sweet music from the human breast. Ah, glances bright, and mirth and joyous singing, Smiles, and light footsteps cheat the ear and eye, While over all, within, despair is flinging Its blight-like mist descending heavily. Then ask it not, that fatal boon of sadness, LEWIS DELA. THIS humorous poet is a native of Portland, where he is now engaged in the practice of Law. LAW vs. SAW. SITTING in his office was a lawyer Standing in the street a sawyer; On the lawyer's anxious face While the sawyer, gaunt and grim, Now the saw-horse seemed to me Like a double X in fee, And the saw, Whichever way 'twas thrust, Must be followed by the dust, And the law upon the track, As the tempered teeth of steel Made a wound that would not heal Through the heart. And each severed stick that fell, Of the many severed ties That in law suits will arise, Then methought the sturdy paw, Had a yielding mine of wealth If the chips that strewed the ground, By some stricken widow found In her need, Should by light and warmth impart Blessings to her aged heartHappy deed! This conclusion then I draw, Is as good, As the exercise of paw, Sawing wood. SARAH HAYFORD. MISS HAYFORD is the adopted daughter of Arvida Hayford, Esq., of Bangor, where she now resides. The following little gem has been extensively circulated, under the title of 'Sweet Florence,' and comes to us in Lelia's Offering.' THE SLEEPING BABE. I SAT beside a sleeping babe, I saw the smile of innocence, That wreathed the sunny brow, There is a sweet, a heavenly charm Around the infant thrown, A mild and gentle purity, In after years unknown. Of gentle loveliness should seem |